


Scenes [4 of 5]

by lone_lilly



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lone_lilly/pseuds/lone_lilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five sex scenes without a plot to call home makes a story</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes [4 of 5]

**Author's Note:**

> for [](http://shimmeryshine.livejournal.com/profile)[**shimmeryshine**](http://shimmeryshine.livejournal.com/), who writes the best fic. I want to be just like her when I grow up! (P.S.-- Also, I just really like party!fic, okay. Don't judge me!)

  


**Title:** Scenes [4 of 5]  
 **Author:** [](http://lone-lilly.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lone_lilly**](http://lone-lilly.dreamwidth.org/) || [](http://onlylonelilly.livejournal.com/profile)[**onlylonelilly**](http://onlylonelilly.livejournal.com/)  
 **Fandom:** _Castle_  
 **Pairing:** Castle/Beckett  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** through S4 with only a small throwback to "Always"  
 **Summary:** five sex scenes without a plot to call home makes a story  
 **Notes:** for [](http://shimmeryshine.livejournal.com/profile)[**shimmeryshine**](http://shimmeryshine.livejournal.com/), who writes the best fic. I want to be just like her when I grow up! (P.S.-- Also, I just really like party!fic, okay. Don't judge me!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IV.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
_Soft lips are open, them knuckles are pale. Feels like you're dying, you're dying._   


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She's really starting to hate these parties.

She'd grudgingly admit they were kind of exciting at first, getting the rare chance to play dress up and drink expensive champagne while surreptitiously spying on Castle in his element. And it had been sort of maddening in the beginning, in so many ways really, but to be this man's muse, the center of these parties and yet so far removed from all of it. Not to mention being forced to listen to all of the women and some of the men there lusting after her partner while she pretended she wasn't doing the exact same thing.

Well, now she knows doesn't she? She knows this Castle, the one that charms his way around the room is only a fraction of who he really he is. She knows who he really is, all of him, the Castle that wakes her up at three in the morning because he can't wait any longer to have her, and the Castle that beat a man senseless because he aimed a gun at her, and the Castle who is working his way through a list of online gift basket companies to send to Alexis even though her college is only a taxi ride away.

This Castle, this one she let herself be so wary of for so long, he's nothing but a character he made up, like Nikki or Derrick. He's not _real_.

And she's bored now watching him play this game. Flirt. It's not that she's jealous-- _she's not_ \-- it's just she wants to take him home, peel that ridiculously hot tuxedo off him, and show him the things she's not sure she'll ever be able to put in words. Like how proud she is of him. To be his inspiration. To _know_ him. The real him. All of him.

She sighs as she watches him navigate the room, leaving one group for another, constantly floating, signing books and body parts and talking up every single person Gina points out. Okay, maybe she is a little jealous. _She's_ never gotten him to mind so well.

Thankfully, the man she's been talking to--or rather, listening to because she certainly hasn't gotten more than a few words in the entire time-- finally excuses himself to get another drink from the bar and she makes her escape, dodging bodies as she heads toward the restroom. It's blessedly, remarkably empty in there considering this party is mostly made up of women, but she'll take her miracles where she can get them. Fishing her phone out of her purse she checks her messages to see if a body has dropped but aside from a call from her father she's got nothing. Figures. If she didn't want to be interrupted she'd have half a dozen calls.

She starts to drop her phone back into her purse and then reconsiders, biting her lip as she brings up Castle's number. She knows she probably shouldn't do this. If he sexted her at _her_ job she'd probably threaten to shoot him and she doesn't want to disrespect his work just because it's boring and pretentious and full of twenty-something girls asking him to sign their cleavage. Then again, it seems like exactly the sort of thing Castle would enjoy, doesn't it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It takes him exactly four minutes and she's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and blame a minute of that on travel time between their phones. She kind of regrets not being able to see the look on his face when his phone buzzed and he glanced down to see what she'd written, because the one he gives her _now_ is priceless. And pretty damn hot.

Then he opens his mouth and kind of ruins it.

"Oh, excuse me. I thought I was meeting someone else in here," he frowns, feigning embarrassment as he looks around the ladies' room wildly before making sure she sees him turning the lock on the door knob.

She raises an eyebrow coolly. "I would expect a higher level of wit from someone who regularly tops the New York Times' Bestseller list."

"Not the only thing I top with regularity," he grins that insufferable grin that always makes her want to slap him. Then devour him. Perhaps not always in that order.

"Oh, really?" she smirks, leaning her hip against the sink as he stalks toward her. "And would you really call it _topping_ or is it just that I _allow_ you to be on top?"

He steps in impossibly close, close enough to rest his hands on either side of her waist, and she allows herself to breathe him in, the scent of his cologne and the champagne on his breath mingling together in an intoxicating way that clings to the back of her throat. Makes her mouth water.

It's still hard to believe that they do this now, that she doesn't have to pretend she doesn't want it, him, _this_ any longer. Even after months, she's still getting used to it. Still feeling the thrill of it wash over her every time she realizes he's hers to touch. Kiss. _Et cetera_.

"Or maybe I allow you to allow me?" he challenges and she watches, fascinated, as the leer he's giving her melts the corners of his eyes like warm chocolate. "Did you ever think of that?"

"No," she says blandly letting her gaze travel down to his lips, full and so inviting. She wonders if he tastes like champagne too, if she could actually get drunk off him. "Why would I think that? It's absurd."

He hums softly, disagreeing as he closes the few inches between them to nuzzle the line of her throat. "Or true. It could be true."

"But it's not," she points out, reaching for him, slipping her hands underneath his jacket to bring his hips to hers. He's warm and solid against her and she presses herself up into him, her mouth glancing off his as she flicks her tongue out to run invitingly against his lower lip.

"But it _could_ be."

She gives him a look. "Are you going to kiss me, Castle? Or bicker me to death?"

"Bicker? But I hardly even _know_ her."

" _Castle_ ," she growls, frustrated, because _God_ how did she end up with someone who wants to talk so much when they could be on their way to half-naked right now but then he's kissing her, sliding his tongue deliciously thick against hers and okay. She remembers. This is how.

She whimpers a little as he crushes her against the sink then, the porcelain edge jutting into her hip as he pins her there and she draws her hands up over his abdomen, fisting his shirt up as she does so she can get underneath. His skin is hot and she drags her fingernails over his abdomen just to see what he'll do, sucking his tongue against her own and swallowing the groan that tumbles between them when her hands dip lower to the front of his pants.

"No," he says suddenly, his hands abandoning her face to push her shoulders away with a sort of finality that makes her stumble.

What? No _what_?

"No?" she repeats, startled, her body going completely still as she waits because he's never, ever pushed her away, at least not since that first night and that was... But this is.... different. This is different.

His eyes are unfathomably dark, but focused on her in a way that she can't read at all. Not hazy with desire like she's accustomed to seeing there. "Not like this."

"Here?" she clarifies, smirking a little because he was the one who locked them in the bathroom at his own book party. What did he think was going to happen next?

"No," he says again and his hands find her wrists, forcing her to turn until she's facing the sink, her back bowing slightly as he holds her hands down on the edge. She twists her head around to peer at him over her shoulder, but his hips, his thighs keep hers in place, not allowing her any more movement than that. And he's hard against her, she can feel that clearly where he's pressing against her ass. She pushes back against him instantly, seeking more. Wanting it. Needing.

"Castle, what-"

"No touching," he growls in her ear and she swings her gaze to the mirror in front of her, seeking out his reflection.

"But--" she tries again and he cuts her off by releasing one of her hands to slide into the front of her dress, cupping her as his fingers seek her nipple through the fabric, rolling it until she can't hold back the sound he draws from her and then running his thumb soothingly along the tip.

"Okay," she swallows, consents, because he seems to be expecting some sort of answer from her and _she_ expects him to smile, or tease her, or _something_ but he simply holds her gaze as his other hand works its way under her dress, shoving the material up to her waist as he strokes his hand up her thigh, her ass, pushing aside the thin material of her panties so he can pet her there too.

"I thought we weren't touching," she half-moans, half-asks and it doesn't really sound like the joke she was going for but his damn fingers are practically inside her and whatever, she doesn't care.

She doesn't the miss the way the corner of his mouth quirks northward though. " _I_ can touch. You can't."

"Doesn't seem much fun for you."

"Says you," he shrugs, dragging her arousal down to her clitoris and then back, teasing, teasing, never quite giving her the pressure she needs. "I rather enjoy being able to make the indomitable Katherine Beckett squirm."

"Asshole," she sighs as he works two fingers inside her in response, moving them roughly against her slick inner walls, his wrist pressing into the curve of her ass and _fuck_ , this angle is amazing. He's got her panting in no time, her breath catching each time he thrusts back into her and she lets her head fall forward, her hair swinging in loose curls around her face as she pushes her weight on her hands, trying to force herself harder on his when he suddenly withdraws from her.

"Castle--" she protests, craning her neck to look at him because _God_ she was beginning to get close and now he's barely touching her again and that is. So. Not. Okay.

"Watch, Kate," he demands, lifting his eyes to the mirror in front of them. "Watch me make you come."

"Okay, but _harder_ ," she whines, turning back to their reflection, meeting his eyes as he drags his lips over her ear. She shivers in his arms as his tongue flicks out along the sensitive skin and then he pulls her lobe between his teeth, worrying the little diamond stud earring as he sucks.

"You're so hot when you're bossy."

"Excellent," she mutters dryly. "Now fuck me please."

"No. But I will make you come. Since you said please," he grins as he circles her entrance again, his fingers wet because of her, because of _him_ , and there's hardly any friction at all which just makes her want him more, whatever, however he'll give himself to her.

"I like that you always take the lead," he tells her, and oh, fuck, his fingers are inside her again, not just two but three, scraping along her sex in a maddeningly slow dance as he curls along her back, his other hand tangling with hers against the sink, holding her down.

"Watching you take down men twice your size. The way you work a suspect in the interrogation room. How you demand respect everywhere you go."

She groans at his words, biting at her bottom lip to keep from making the sound she wants to make, his fingers twisting inside her making her knees weak and she shifts against him, trying to steady herself.

"God, I love that, Kate," he murmurs, kissing her neck and she watches as her own eyes grow even darker, heavier, when he does until they finally slip shut outside of her control and his fingers still instantly.

"Watch," he reminds her, scolds really, and she glares back at him. Waiting. Aching.

"I love knowing you could completely kick my ass right now but you aren't going to. You _won't_. You played hard to get for so many years, but you like this, don't you?" He does this thing then, with his fingers. She can't even explain it, what he does. It's like he stretches his fingers out, stretching _her_ , and then he's moving again, fucking her fast, faster than she even imagined was possible. "You like that it's _me_ doing this to you."

"Yesss," she hisses, confessing, because God, she can't lie about it. Can't pretend. Not when he has her bent over a bathroom sink, his fingers buried knuckles deep inside her, and there is even a remote possibility he might stop again.

"Did you ever fantasize about this?" He asks her, taunting her because he knows she did, somehow he knows. He's always known her. All of her secrets. "About me taking you like this?"

"No--not at one of your book parties," she stammers out, her words made staccato by the way his hand is driving her hips against the sink, forcing the air out of her lungs before she can ever get a deep enough breath in the first place. She feels like she is ready to splinter apart; every nerve in her body inflamed, searing white hot with pleasure as her orgasm gathers like a storm.

"Oh, I did. So very. Many. Times," he assures her, his voice made of silk, and that's all it takes for her, just the idea of him wanting this. Wanting her. Her entire body grows taut, snaps, her release tunneling through her, racing down her spine, curling her toes, and she comes on his hand, sobbing his name like a prayer.

He keeps her that way, his fingers slowing but not stopping until she's no longer shuddering against him, until her lungs stop burning for oxygen and their reflections clear in the mirror, her eyes finally focusing on his stupidly smug face.

"Is there a reason for that grin on your face, Castle, or do you just enjoy looking like an asshole."

"Oh, no reason," he smirks, slips his fingers from her, making her clench around nothing as he sucks on the tight skin over her shoulder. "I just really like when you prove my theories right."

He gives her enough space to straighten, her dress falling wrinkled over her hips as she crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at him in the mirror until he steps out of her sight, forcing her to turn on her heel so she can see him. "And what theory would that be?"

"The one where I _let_ you boss me around and I _let_ you think it's your choice, " he winks at her, reaching for some soap over a nearby sink and then running his hands under the automatic faucet until his fingers are clean of her arousal.

"It is my choice," she huffs loudly, storming up next to him as he dries his hands underneath the dryer, making sure he can hear her over the din of the high-powered air. "I let you do that to me just now."

"If you say so," he nods solemnly, so obviously not convinced, and he kisses her cheek patronizingly before opening the bathroom door to peek his head into the hall, making sure the coast is clear.

"I'm going to make you pay for this, Castle," she informs him before he can disappear back into the party, so proud of herself for managing the same deadly tone she uses on murderers and not sounding like the whining, begging thing he'd turned her into just a moment ago.

The look he gives her makes blood run hot. Again. Jesus, _already_. "Looking forward to it."


End file.
